


The Wind

by MissIzzy



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-13
Updated: 2006-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-17 03:39:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/547227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissIzzy/pseuds/MissIzzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Master Kenobi knew he was doing this, grumpy would be the least of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wind

How I am supposed to sleep tonight? At first I thought I’d be able to manage it if I just found release, but now I’ve rubbed off to orgasm and I’m still wide awake.

She wants me. I knew she did by the time we got here, and if I had any doubt, tonight did away with it. I could sense her desire, raging in her the same way mine rages in me. I can still sense it. It’s growing stronger, as if she’s walking close to me.

She is. I can hear her footsteps in front of my door. Has she changed her mind?

No. Or maybe she had, but now she’s walking away, so she must have changed it back.

Well, if I’m not going to sleep tonight, there’s no point in just laying here. I’ll just step outside and get some air.

Yet I can still hear her footsteps. She’s not going back to her own bedroom after all. She’s walking ahead of me, headed for the same place I am.

But I find myself stopping just short of my destination, seeing where she’s standing out in the night, the moonlight making her practically glow, and I can’t go out there when she’s like that. She would break me in two.

She’s wearing nothing by a pale nightgown, thin and partly translucent in this light. I can see the way her body curves, and I’m getting aroused again.

She sighs. I see her chest rise and fall. Only slightly, nothing like the heaving bosoms you see on scantily-clad females in disreputable establishments around the galaxy. Not for show, the way they are. She’s thinking of me. I can feel her need. She sighs because she can’t help it.

I’ve never seen anything so erotic in all my life.

And I’ve seen plenty. They don’t attempt to shield a Jedi padawan from much, and they make even less attempt to shield a slave, even if that slave is a child. As I said, I’ve seen females dance for the benefit of patrons in underbelly bars, even males dance for the same purpose. I’ve seen smugglers and other criminals fuck attractive creatures of both sexes in dark corners-and the one fucked was not always willing. I’ve heard just about every dirty phrase in the galaxy.

They say when Jedi sleep with others, we must feel compassion, but no attachment. But I’ve seen what anonymous sex is like. There is no compassion in it, just the cruelest selfishness. My agemates whisper in wonder that they think I’m still a virgin, but if that’s the only sex Jedi are allowed, then I’ll just meditate and masturbate until I finally drive my cravings out of myself.

As if I could ever drive them away when Padmé exists.

I didn’t even know there was any other kind of sex until I was seven, and my mom took a lover for a brief while. Like any mother, she tried to keep from me what they did, but I knew. Or thought I did. It made me furious, to think of a man doing to my mother what I had seen done to countless females, and I actually got him alone and yelled at him for it. After which mom swallowed her embarrassment and explained to me that what she and he did was different, because they cared for each other.

I don’t like to think about my mother having sex any more than anyone else does, but even so, I wonder if it would be the way it was with her and her lover, if I was out there with Padmé, touching and clutching at her breast the way she’s doing so now. Is she imagining my hand in the place of her own, the same way I imagine her touching me when I touch myself?

That thought is enough to make me unbelievably hard.

Now her hand trails down her side, and I can’t take my eyes off it, or the flesh it travels over, flesh that begs to be caressed. If not by me, and not by her, than by her nightgown.

Oh yes, this isn’t an approved use for the Force. But I could point out that subtle moves like this require the most skill. Just to move the cloth a little, press it against her lovely skin.

Her eyes fly open. Then she sighs again, and moans. Never have I felt longing this intense, from either myself or someone else.

But as I move her skirt so that it clings to her legs, massaging her thighs, she demands, “Ani?” and I stop, suddenly aware of what I'm doing. The skirt falls back down.

“He’s not here,” she says, very loudly. “It’s just the wind. The wind is very aggressive tonight.”

I understand. I’ll use the Force to touch her tonight, and she’ll know it’s me. But tomorrow morning she will tell herself that she was imagining things, that her memory's playing tricks on her, even the explanation of the wind, which will be a weak one by the time I’m done with her.

But what she does next stuns me. She turns towards the entrance, and never have I seen that fire in her eyes. Then she reaches behind her back, and I realize she's undoing her nightgown. It falls to her feet.

I've seen other females delibrately expose their naked body, one even for me speficicially, but they were nothing like this. Every female before her had bourn either a calculating look in her eye, interested in nothing but what she could get from it, or one of desperate pain, unable to be interested in anything besides her basic survival. I see nothing in Padmé's eyes but pure heat. She just wants to please me, to feel my eyes on her, to know we both ache to touch.

One hand is groping clumsily at my leggings even as the other directs her nightgown back up. It presses everywhere I want to touch her. She closes her eyes and whispers my name, her hands roam her body, and one slides down to between her legs.

I’d like to tell her I’ve got my hands on my genitals too, and that the sight of her doing this to herself is almost enough to make me lose it. If I hadn’t orgasmed earlier tonight I would have already. But to speak would break the rules. I’ve dropped my shields, but I know she can’t sense me anyway.

All I can do is bunch of a part of her nightgown and guide it to cover her hand, nudge at it. She grabs it and I see her use her other hand to spread her labia apart. Then she straightens out of the cloth and murmurs, “Can the wind blow upward?”

For you, Padme, it can.

Up the nightgown flies, and she takes it and starts pulling it back and forth, back and forth, rubbing it against herself. Once I’m sure of the pace I take hold of it, leaving her to thrust herself down again and again, almost as if she’s trying to fuck the cloth.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone move with this amount of abandon in my life. The dignity so important to her discarded completely, she moans and writhes for me, losing her footing, forcing me to prop her up. She starts chanting, “Ani, Ani,” as if I’m the only thing that exists for her, and it drives me to orgasm; my body seizing up and how I keep moving the cloth through it I don't know. I wish she could let her know that, let her know she’s made me come.

Instead I now focus all my efforts on her, pressing my cloth hard and fast, I’m fucking her with it the way she wants me to fuck her with my body. She’s bucking against it, legs kicking, spine arched hard, eyes screwed shut.

Yet I’m aware as I watch her that I’ve seen this before, all of this, only without the purity that these acts here contain.

But then she orgasms, and I know instantly I’ve never seen this, however many females would like me to believe I had. They can fake it for the ignorant, but not for the man who has seen the woman he adores shudder as if she’s about to break apart and cry out so loud I’m sure the sound reaches all the way across the lake.

I’ve managed to suspend her several feet above the ground by now. I take the nightgown from between her legs-she sighs as I do so-lay it out on the ground, and lower her onto it. She curls onto it like a feline, barely audible sounds of pleasure escaping her lips. Sight after beautiful sight. I could stand here and watch her all night.

But then I know I shouldn’t, because the temptation would eventually get too great to go out there and join her, and then she might refuse me, and I don’t want to hear another refusal from her tonight. Besides, she shouldn’t be sleeping outside naked with only her nightgown between herself and the dirty ground.

So instead I turn away, go back to my bedroom, and again try to sleep. Before exhaustion finally takes me, I hear her footsteps go past my door again.


End file.
